Must Have Done Something Right
by fiendofspace
Summary: Jake catches a bad cold right before his date with Dirk and has to call to cancel. However, Dirk's not going to let him suffer alone. Oneshot DirkJake fluff.


**Hey all! **

**To start out, I'd like to say that this is dedicated to my favorite writing buddy Aileen Jones!**

**Also, this was written at 2 am as a sort of experiment, so take that as you will. **

**As always, please take some time to review if possible, and thank's for reading! **

**- fiendofspace**

* * *

You've never felt this sick in your entire life. Sure, you've had colds before - but you'd usually been able to ignore the headache and sore throat enough to go about your day as if you were in top form. This time, however, it feels different. There's a pounding ache behind your eyes and your head feels like it's about to split open. You're curled up in your bed trying to ignore the aching, but it refuses to let up. Even the sound of the rain against the window, which you always found so soothing, only proves to worsen the pounding in your head.

Slowly, you lift up your wrist until it is close to your face, and squint at your watch.

There are only twenty minutes left before you're supposed to meet Dirk for dinner.

You're not going to make it.

Blindly, you reach behind you for your phone. You punch in a number and hold it to your ear as you wince at the loudness of the dial tone. After a moment, it stops.

"Hey Jake."

Even though you feel absolutely awful, hearing his voice gives you a second of relief. It's enough to pull you from your pain-induced stupor at least. "Hello Dirk," you say as strongly as you can manage.

Not strongly enough, apparently. He notices the weakness in your voice. "You okay?" he asks.

"Eh... Not really," you admit. You really hate to ditch out on your date, but there's no way that either of you will enjoy yourselves with you in this state.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sick," you mumble, rolling onto your back and covering your eyes in the crook of your elbow.

"Bullshit, you never get sick."

You laugh lightly. "I assure you, I do."

He's silent for a moment. "Okay, I understand. Don't worry about it. If you're sick, we'll just plan a dinner date for some other time."

"I'm sorry," you mutter into the receiver.

"Don't be." You can hear the smile in his voice now. "Feel better soon."

"Thanks," you respond, a slight smile coming to your lips as well. "Love you."

"You too." With that, he hangs up.

With a sigh, you roll over onto your side, pulling the blankets over you as you gaze into the darkness out the window. What had started out earlier in the day as a light rain was turning into a full-blown storm. The wind was picking up and the sky had grown dark long before sundown.

Suddenly everything seems too warm, and you kick off the covers once more. Shit, you hate being sick. You glance around for a glass of water, but find none. It's alright, you'll get some when you have more strength. But you're so thirsty...

Begrudgingly, you rise out of your bed and stand, one hand on the dresser to support you while you get your bearings. After a few shuddering breaths, you grit your teeth and walk through the hall and down the stairs.

By the time you reach the kitchen, you're physically exhausted. You stumble over to the cabinets and grab a glass before filling it under the faucet. You raise it gratefully up to your lips... But it's sickly warm and has a metallic taste that makes you gag. You faintly hear the shattering of glass as you slide to the floor against the cabinets, pressing your hands to your eyes against the pounding of your head.

You're content with laying here for the rest of the night. As least it's quiet here, and you don't have to deal with the sound of the rain pounding against the windows and roof. You might just be able to sleep here...

As you start to drift off, you feel strong arms wrap around you and pull you to your feet. You groan in protest, but you feel your arm being slung over broad shoulders and suddenly you're not supporting your weight. You're going up the stairs now, and you crack your eyes open just a bit. Sure enough, you're able to see windswept blonde hair and pointed shades before your eyes close again.

He leads you back into your room before sitting you on the edge of your bed. You fall into it, pulling the covers back up to your neck. "Dirk?" you mutter.

"I'm here." He sits next on the edge of your bed. "You okay?" he asks, removing your glasses and placing them next to you on your bedside table.

You shake your head ever so slightly.

"Headache?"

You nod.

He gives a quiet sigh, brushing your bangs back before planting a kiss on your forehead. "Here," he mutters, pulling out a plastic bag. "I brought you these." He sets a bag of cough drops on the table next to your bed.

You crack a small grin. Strawberry. He knows it's your favorite. "Thanks," you mumble.

It's one of the last things that you can remember clearly. For some amount of time later, Dirk swims in and out of your vision. Sometimes you can feel his fingers running through your hair, and other times you open your eyes to be met with a dark, empty room. At one point, Dirk comes back with an asprin and a glass of cold water. You catch a bit of sleep after that, thankfully. And when you open your eyes at one point when you feel stronger from the short rest, Dirk's standing next to your bed with a tray.

"You hungry?" he asks, setting the tray down at the foot of your bed.

"Definitely," you reply, propping yourself up against your pillows.

He sits beside you and turns on a lamp as he pulls the tray up towards you. "I just thought that since you couldn't go out tonight, we could improvise."

There are two bowls of steaming chicken noodle soup on the tray, surrounded by Saltine crackers. There's also a glass of water with clinking ice cubes, as well as a mug of hot green tea.

"I didn't know if you would want water or tea, so I just brought both," he said, folding up his sunglasses and placing them on the table next to yours.

"Thanks," you say, grinning meekly at him before helping yourself to a bowl of soup.

Neither of you talk very much as you eat the food that Dirk prepared. It's nice though - the storm has intensified, but your headache has died down enough that you're able to listen to the wind and the rain against the windows without feeling like you're being punched in the face.

After the soup has been eaten and the tea and water have been drunk, the two of you are left nibbling on Saltines as you lean against your headboard and listen to the storm. There are little rumbles of thunder here and there, and flashes of lightning cut through the sky. Dirk has his arm over your shoulders, and you're perfectly content with just resting your head on him as the two of you rest.

"What are you doing?" you ask, as he opens the bag of cough drops.

"I love strawberry," he says, popping one of them into his mouth and grinning down at you.

You take the bag from him and grab one of your own. "I know, but you're not even sick!"

"What can I say? I'm empathizing with you."

"Yeah right, you're just stealing my cough drops."

"Hey, I bought them."

"But you're not sick," you repeat, grinning. You're glad to be back in the normal groove of things, kidding and joking with each other.

He laughs, giving you a quick kiss when you're not paying attention.

"S-stop, I don't want to make you sick," you stutter, pulling away from him.

"I don't care," he responds. "Even better. Empathizing, remember?" He brushes your bangs back again. "Except when I get sick, you have to do the same for me."

You smile, not resisting when he kisses you again. "Of course."

You, Jake English, can't even fathom what you did to deserve this wonderful boyfriend. You know that you must have done something right.


End file.
